Page 64 of Playing to Win

Andrew’s brows dipped together. “Were you ever?”

“Aye, but weren’t we all?” Colin raised his beer bottle in a mock toast. “Doesn’t every mum decide in the middle of Tesco that it’s just ‘all too much’?”

“She walked off and left you in the supermarket?”

“Me and the groceries.” He scratched his neck, which had grown suddenly warm. “She came back eventually. It felt like an hour but it was probably only a few minutes. Kids have weird sense of time, you know? Like, remember how summer used to last forever?”

Andrew nodded slowly, but his lips were tight.

Colin looked away. “She said it was nae big deal, that I should stop greetin’ about it. ‘Big boys don’t cry,’ she said. And a big boy sure as fuck doesn’t cling to his mum’s legs ’til she—” His breath caught. “Until she makes him stop.”

He shut his eyes against the memory of how hard that wall was, how unyielding. It couldn’t be a real memory anyway, it was so long ago.

“Sometimes I wish I was like her,” Colin said, “so I could understand. But that’s stupid. Why would anyone wish to be mentally ill?”

“Because if you were bipolar too,” Andrew said, “you’d know for certain that her treatment of you wasn’t your fault. You’d know for certain it was the illness which said and did those things. You’d know what it feels like to be out of control.”

Colin squinted at him. “You don’t think I’m out of control?”

“I think you want people to believe you are. Sometimes you act daft, but you’re one of the sanest men I know.” He tilted his head. “Apart from your politics.”

Colin laughed, relieved they were back to the banter. He also felt a twinge of guilt, as the September 18 independence referendum was exactly a month away. He should be out canvassing tonight, chapping doors for the cause, not slashing open his own soul for dissection.

Changing the subject, he pointed at the window. “Not to flog a dead horse, but I really think you should tell Reggie about the rock.”

“I can’t, especially now. If he knew, he’d never let us—” Andrew cut himself off, then gave a short laugh. “That was close.” Wearing a sly smile, Andrew turned to the side table behind him and picked up a blue envelope. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks.” Dazed, Colin reached for the card. “How’d you know?”

“It’s not exactly a state secret. You mentioned it on Twitter, or you thanked someone for birthday wishes. I don’t remember.”

“You follow me on Twitter?” Colin took his phone from his shirt pocket and opened the app. “I never got a notification.”

“I’m not technically following you. You’re on a private list of people I want to keep track of without anyone knowing.”

“Is this list called ‘People I’m Stalking’?”

“Reading someone’s public tweets is not stalking.”

“Then I guess I should rename the list I’ve got you in.” He turned the phone so Andrew could read the screen, which displayed Colin’s ownPeople I’m Stalkingprivate Twitter list.

“Let me see.” Andrew took the phone and thumbed the screen. “Ah, I’m in good company with the Prime Minister, David Beckham, and Justin Bieber.” He gave a lingering glance at his own phone on the coffee table, but didn’t move to check it. “Go on, open your gift.”

Gift?Colin tore the envelope, nearly getting a paper cut in his eagerness. The card bore no handwritten message, only anxabove Andrew’s swooping signature. A small white envelope fell into his lap. When Colin picked it up, Andrew shifted nervously, then sat on his hands.

Colin pulled out a pair of tickets that stopped his heart. “What the…”

“You said you’d never seen theAmerican Idiotmusical.”

“But this says N—” He could barely get the words out. “New York. This theater’s in New York.”

Andrew rocked back and forth, still sitting on his hands. “I went to the Warriors’ website to make sure you’d no match on the thirtieth of August. We could fly over Friday morning and be there in time for dinner and the show, then leave Saturday night and have you back in Glasgow for Sunday practice session.”

Colin stared at him. This couldn’t be real. “What about your social obligations?”

“Sod my obligations. My parents can chastise me during our annual family holiday, which starts the first of September. But…” Andrew got up and walked to Colin’s end of the couch. “The weekend of the thirtieth is for you.” He settled onto Colin’s lap, straddling him. “And me.”

It felt like a boomerang had been released inside Colin’s skull. It didn’t help that Andrew was recreating the exact location and position they’d last fucked, on Thursday after Colin had repaired the window. “I don’t know what to say.”

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